


Big spoon

by Samuuraijack



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Giving Sharky a roommate, Hurt/Comfort, Sharky has love and Doritos to share, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 21:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15495303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samuuraijack/pseuds/Samuuraijack
Summary: Anya escaped from Jacob's territory with the deputy's help and she needs somewhere to recover. Sharky lets her share Casa de Boshaw for a few weeks. He is the perfect roommate and they enjoy their time together.Chapter 1 is a morning together from Anya's POV.Chapter 2 is an evening together from Sharky's POV.





	1. Big spoon

**Author's Note:**

> I love Sharky Boshaw. There, I said it. I needed someone else to express how great he could be so I created an OC to let Sharky shine with easy love and happiness, to forget how horrible the world is in FC5.

Anya’s liking being the big spoon to Sharky’s little one.

She can tell it’s early morning by the soft rosy light showing through the trailer blinds. One door only, the expanse of Sharky’s white, spotty back between her and the entrance, shotgun within reach and her own back against the wall. She’s breathing right, maybe relaxing a little. Sharky’s really done good by her.

Two months in a cage in Jacob Seed’s territory messed her up in so many ways. Beaten, underfed, locked up outside, sleeping on concrete, too hot in the day and too cold in the night.  At the mercy of everything, men and elements. It’s a miracle she’s alive. She’s not convinced by Jacob’s theory of culling the weak and the strong will survive. She feels absolutely destroyed, mind and body. Not stronger in any way than when she was captured by that crazy cult.

She’s grateful to the deputy, freeing her from that place and getting her to safety. To here, that trailer park and that crazy perfect pyromaniac person. She uses a finger to trace the invisible road between the moles on Sharky’s shoulders, careful not to wake him up. She likes the contrast of the black dots on a white canvas. So different from her own black skin. She squeezes her eyes shut. Her own body is so ugly now, not her own. Starved, with sharp scars and wounds still not healed. Everything is painful when she moves. Muscles and bones rusty, old. Tendons underused and overtaxed at the same time. 

She presses up against the body in front of her. The plump skin and the warmth are such a comfort. A luxury even. When she arrived at the trailer park, she was barely human and more feral dog but it didn’t take long for her to include Sharky in her space. She was starved for the human contact and he was more than accommodating. He’s a great distraction from her own state of mind. Always talking and being playful, dancing, enjoying simple things. Food, beer, music, fire. Uncomplicated and carefree.

And he’s all about comfort, telling her to do whatever the hell she wants and trying to provide everything she needs to the best of his ability. The food is a lot about barbecuing all the meal from meat to fruits and vegetables. He’s taken the habit of going hunting for clothes, coming back with horrible pieces that he tries on to convince her to wear them but she prefers raiding his own dressing and floating in his oversized hoodies with tacky messages on and at least one burnt patch. She doesn’t miss the glint in his eyes when he sees her in his clothes but still everyday there’s more options for her to try on.  

Of course he smells of smoke, especially his hair, as if his body is producing that smell after all these year in proximity of every fires he could light on. She inhales deeply near his scalp and the cold intake of air must wakes him up because he groans a bit and settles back in her embrace, mumbling.

“Are you sniffing me?”

She smiles and presses her lips at the junction between neck and shoulder, letting him feel her response. She’s happy here. She’s a mess, she doesn’t know what to do first to ever feel okay one day but right now, at this very second, she’s alright.

He chuckles low and she feels it against her ribs, pressed as they are against each other. He makes a vague gesture around, gathers the sheets to cover his chest and burrows deeper in his pillow.

“Nevermind, t’s early. Go back to sleep.”

She does just that.


	2. Small deckchair

Sharky’s liking having a companion lounging by the small fire in the center of the trailer park. He doesn’t mind the silence for a change. He’s careful not to overwhelm his guest and Anya isn’t a big talker. Or maybe she was but isn’t anymore?

Anyway, it’s peaceful. Fire cracking and glowing orange and red, hissing angrily every time Sharky pokes at it with a stick. Sparks flying in the dusk light. He can loosely distinct Anya’s form folded on a deckchair in front of him but her sharp angles are softened, blurred in the night and her big sweater. She’s bare foot, heels tucked underneath her body on the chair and he’s fascinated by the firelight dancing on her toes. Woman toes. He never thought about them before but they’re great. Well, he doesn’t have that much to compare beside his own. Maybe they’re great just because they’re Anya’s toes and he’s got a soft spot inside for her now?

He doesn’t even really like to think too much about it. Just enjoying the company while it lasts. And he discovered the best feeling in the world when he wakes up to her playing connect the dot on the moles of his back. He forces himself to stay put when it tickles, sometimes taking a big breath and rolling his shoulders to feel her finger slip and come back on the spot.

He didn’t imagine for an instant after the deputy left them together it would be like that. Shared intimacy. He talked big about it, always spouting details about his life but he was still terrified to share his space and having someone _knowing him_ like this. And here he is, sitting with beer and snacks on his deck in front of his trailer, like every evening but _not_ because now they’re two and he has to remember to tip the Doritos bag in her direction so she can take a handful. She needs the food, she’s all skin and bones. And scars. But they don’t talk about it.

Now, he feels like he’s getting the hang of it. Cohabitation. Everything he throws at her about his quirks, the music and the dancing and the fire –and the pants optional policy-, she absorbs just like every one of her fears like big open spaces and sleeping closer to the door, he accommodates. Maybe it’s because circumstances aren’t normal. She’s traumatized and still numbed by her captivity. World around them is oddly suspended, lying in wait for _something to happen_. Fucking Joseph Seed and his doomsday theory.

They fell into bed together after a week. He doesn’t know if it’s normal. If he’s taking advantage. There are no rules to follow for their situation anyway and his only guideline is if she asks for the thing, she’s good with it.

Sex is another thing that he wasn’t prepared for _at all_. Nothing like porn. Nothing like bathroom encounters with drunk strangers and local hookers. She’s hurting, doesn’t have much muscle mass anymore and tires quick. They’re both eager to touch and kiss but anything too strenuous is out for the moment. For the first time, he takes his time. This is mind-blowing that he never spent any thought about a woman’s pleasure before. That she lets him explore and taste and he has to gauge her reaction to determine what feels good for her. Who would have thought you could take pleasure from making someone else shiver like that on your tongue?

He clears his throat noisily and Anya immediately focuses on him, waiting for him to share his thoughts. Shit, he searches for something to say that absolutely doesn’t have anything to do with their morning activity. He settles for a basic question.

“Are you cold?”

She smirks at him like she knows exactly what’s on his mind. When she’s gonna get back her strength and spirit she’s gonna be like a freaking eagle, flying high and letting everyone in the dust behind, he’s sure of it.

“I’m good.”

He still puts another log in the fire. It’s early, they can stay like that for a bit. He retreats to the kitchen and comes back with marshmallows. He knows she’s got a sweet tooth and he likes to roast them to perfection.

They’re gonna wait for the end of the world in style.


End file.
